


Learning to Fly

by AllieCat



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Kidfic, Kidlock, Wingfic, Winglock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-18 22:49:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllieCat/pseuds/AllieCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John teaches Sherlock how to fly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning to Fly

"No, you're doing it all wrong!" A six year old John Watson shouted up at a five year old Sherlock Holmes, who was perched on the lowest branch of the elm tree in the front garden of his house. It wasn't all that high up, but still he was frightened, and he wasn't bothering to keep it to himself, either. "Spread your wings out further, if you try and fly like that you're going to smack your bloody face into the ground!"

"John, this is bad! This is very bad, John!" Sherlock squealed, tucking his wings tightly against his back. He held onto a higher branch, fingers clutching at the leaves of the tree as he looked down at the ground. He was being unreasonable, stupid even, he knew that, but there was no one else who could be bothered to teach him to fly, and John was unbearably patient.

"You have to do this, Sherlock." John sighed, raking his fingers through his hair, his own wings spread out wide either side of him, trying to demonstrate how simple the whole process was, and how stupid the small child was being not to even try. He stopped himself, realising he was becoming a lot like Sherlock, as for once in his life he knew how to do something better than the little boy. Their age difference hardly mattered, Sherlock was already smarter and more talented than he'd ever be.

"No I don't!" Sherlock spat back, his black curls bouncing as he shouted. He went to cross his arms over his chest, but panicked and grabbed onto the fat trunk of the tree at the last minute. "John, I don't want to do this! I don't need to fly, I'll get a cab instead!" He howled, trying his utmost not to cry and make an even bigger fool of himself.

"Yes, you do. You can't get a cab on your own at the age of fine, you ninny." John was becoming more and more impatient as time went on, tapping his foot as he waited. "Sherlock, all you have to do, is spread your wings and sort of jump out a bit. It's really not that hard! You're acting like a two year old." He sighed, rolling his eyes. Sherlock, who was usually so calm and fine with anything set in front of him, was a sight to see in that moment. Like a cat stuck up a tree, he clung to the trunk of the tree until his fingers turned a ghostly shade of white, and he was on the brink of tears.

"No!" He shook his head firmly, keeping his death grip on the tree. "I'm not flying, it's scary!" He squealed, and bit his lower lip, knowing how pathetic he was being, but at a loss to stop it. "John!" He shouted, his voice scaling a whole octave in a single word. "John, get me down!"

"Sherlock, you're only a metre off the ground, just get on with it!" John barked back, sitting down on the grass. Standing up for so long had become rather monotonous, and Sherlock was taking all bloody day, anyway.

"Fine then, but if I die it's _all your fault_." Sherlock glared at him, mustering the dirtiest look he could for the other boy, who seemed so calm, as if jumping out of a tree wasn't a big deal. Sherlock looked around, doing his best not to focus too hard on the ground below him. He wasn't exactly that high up, barely more than a metre at most, but he was shaking like a leaf anyway. He peered over his feet at the ground beneath him, and spread out his wings. They were as dark as the ebony accidentals on Mycroft's piano, but they were truly beautiful, and they'd be even more so when he was older, too.

"Come on, Sherlock. You can do it!" John called up the tree, and stood up to get a better look at the boy. Sherlock flapped his little black wings tentatively, lifting one foot up, and putting it back down rather quickly. Perhaps one foot at a time wouldn't be the best way.

"John?" Sherlock whimpered, needing to know that the boy would be there watching, heaven forbid he failed. John simply nodded, and Sherlock nodded back, and on a silent count to three, he jumped, he soared clumsily for a mere moment, his feathers flapping in the breeze for a second, before he tumbled heavily back to earth, landing on his backside with a great thud. "John!" He screeched, but the older boy was there before he had the chance to burst into tears. John sat down on the grass beside the small child, and wrapped his arms around him tightly.

"My first flight was dodgy, don't worry." He said gently, though he was lying through his teeth. His first flight had gone much the same way. "You'll get better with practice, mate. It's not all bad." John told him, letting him go. Sherlock picked at the grass for a moment, evidently trying to come up with something to say.

"Fuck _that._ " He swore, ignoring the shocked look from John. "I'm walking." John laughed, and they sat there together until the sun came down, and John's mother called them in for dinner.

 


End file.
